


Some Money Costs Too Much

by darkandstormyslash



Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: Groping, M/M, Poverty, Prince Rasselas is a sweetheart and deserves none of this, Prostitution, attempted prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 21:28:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13749585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkandstormyslash/pseuds/darkandstormyslash
Summary: Prince Rasselas's boyfriend is getting worse, and he desperately needs money. Desperate enough to try something he once promised he'd never do.





	Some Money Costs Too Much

**Author's Note:**

> A careful re-listening of the final episode, and an ogle at the credits, confirmed that Rasselas's boyfriend is canonically called Finn.

Rasselas almost loses his nerve twice just on the way down to the dockside; his velvet shoes slipping against the street cobbles as he makes his way through the narrow maze of London's streets. His heart is beating rapidly in his chest, the air feels both too cold and too hot, he knows if he stops for even a moment to think about what he's doing he'll bottle out completely and run back to the safety of home.

Finn. He has to think about Finn. Finn who is lying in a bed in a damp-infested tiny room, slowly dying because Rasselas can't afford to buy him any medication and can barely afford to buy him any food. Pennies won't cut it anymore.

The fog is rising on the Thames when he reaches the waterside where everything looks gloomy, damp and dismal. He's dressed down, because this is no place for silks and patterns, in a short velvet jacket with dark plumb-coloured trousers. The docks feel strange and alien, despite the fact that he's come by this route a hundred times during the day and a good few times at night as well. Never before though for this purpose.

He's always felt, shamefully, just a little shade of superiority compared with the Covent Garden whores. Even the prissiest Molly needs someone to feel better than, and that had always been the line Rasselas had sworn he'd never cross. He might steal, cheat, lie, even blackmail, but never would he sell his body for money. And now here he is, scuttling down to the London docks in the dead of night, feeling a sickening ache in his guts and a choking fear in his throat.

He knows where the trade lives, the boys who wait down by the waterside for the ships to come in. The fog around him gives way to mist, which gives way to a sullen sort of dampness in the air. It's not vertical enough to be rain but it soaks into his shirt until he finds a doorway to skulk in. His fear of being used by multiple men is starting to fade into the fear of not being able to find anyone at all. The place is deserted. Rasselas isn't sure whether it would be more shameful or less shameful to scurry home a failure, but he knows if nothing happens tonight he'll never dare come out again.

It's moderately dry under the doorway, and Rasselas wraps his arms around himself and gets his chattering teeth to calm down. He even manages to get his fear under control; he'll suck a few cocks, collect a few coin, and be waiting by the apothecary the minute it opens. By the time the sun rises he'll be back with Finn, tending to him with something more than just warm water. All that will be left of the night will be a bad taste in his mouth, a lingering shame, and a little more respect for the girls in Covent Garden.

A figure looms out of the mist in front of him and his fear returns in spades. Rasselas startles back, pressing himself further into the doorway and desperately staring at the cobbles. The man seems enormous, big and rugged in a torn white shirt and knee-length breeches. His hair is wild and curly, his face and neck bear the faded bruises of a recent fight, and he has a large hooped earring dangling from one ear. He looks just as startled as Rasselas to see him lurking in the doorway, and one meaty fist lands on the woodframe next to him.

"What are you doing here then?"

Rasselas hesitates, breath ghosting the air in little pants. His mind is screaming in fear but somehow he manages to get it out. "I'm ... I'm waiting..."

"Waiting for who?" The man snaps and Rasselas's shoulders try to worm their way even further into the door.

"F-for anyone. F-for someone who might come by?" He manages to twist his mouth into what he hopes is a sultry sort of expression, "M-maybe for you."

The man looks down at him disdainfully and Rasselas wonders what sort of picture he makes; a damp and shivering little Molly in a velvet jacket, "Is that what you're waiting for? You know the  _Lady Grey_ is docking from Kingston in the hour?"

"I-is she?"

"There'll be a hundred randy sailors who haven't seen dry land since Jamaica all over this dockside." The man reaches a hand forward to squeeze at the front of his trousers, "Maybe you're waiting for them?"

Rasselas almost swoons, it's only the wood at his back stopping him from going down. He paws frantically at the hand now attached to him, the rough strong forearm that he can tell he has no hope of moving, "P-please, I-I'll use my mouth, i-if you want, just not - get  _off_."

"If I want?" The body moves closer, crowding him in, and Rasselas shoves back with all the strength he has which doesn't move the man an inch. "Have you thought of what they'll want?"

"Please... please don't..."

"What if they don't want to be told what to do with you?" The hand at his front moves around, grabbing his arse in a rough easy handful while the other traps his wrists and crushes them together, "What if they want a prod at that tight little arse of yours, are you going to stop them? What if there's more than one of them? What if both want to use you at once?"

"I-I don't..."

"Are you going to call for help? Out here?" The hand at his arse digs deeper in and a knee pushes up between his legs until Rasselas is on tiptoe, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes. "Call Bow Street down on everyone? They'll sling you into a jail yourself, and that arse'll take a prodding or two there for certain."

Everything is happening too fast and he can't fight back. The man stares at him for a few moments, and then to his stuttering relief lets him go, taking a step back and smoothing down the crumpled front of his waistcoat, "You're not prepared for that, not for any of it. Go on, fuck off home."

"I have to try." It comes out in a whisper, soft and unconvincing as the stranger takes another step back then pats gently at the side of his face.

"No you don't. Get yourself home and get yourself out of those clothes before you fall ill. You look like a drowned rat." The man gives him an exasperated look, "Now piss off, you're in my spot."

Rasselas flushes, embarrassed and ashamed. Now his fear is starting to recede he realises this man isn't even that much taller than him. There's the splash of a rowboat out in the harbour and both of them flinch slightly.

"Here." The stranger says in a gentler tone, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a coin, "Go on. Take it. Just don't come around here again, alright?"

Rasselas doesn't have much bravery left, but he has enough to feel a stab of concern for the man he's leaving behind, "Will they do that to you, I mean, will you be alright if they -"

Two fingers held against his lips quieten him with the taste of salt and grime, "I've got a boatload of His Majesty's Finest on the way. I'm set for the night. You better run along before things start moving here."

Rasselas nods, and scoots off as fast as he can. His legs don't stop trembling until he gets back to the safety of the room, rushing to Finn's side and pressing his face against the blankets, waiting for his heart rate to still.

Finn stirs weakly, "Are you back? I-I thought you were gone, I called out - "

"Shhh-" Rasselas reaches up gently to stroke the hair back from his face. "I'm back now. Don't you fret. I'm back."


End file.
